Wait… that’s not a glitch!!

This is in regards to the recent debacle of hackers using Kaveh (and his core blooming abilities) to maliciously delete items in other players’ worlds. Please don’t accept co-op from people you don’t know and trust for the time being!! The damage is irreversible!

Chatty Blue Engines🩵🩵

bbc ghosts art i made for my wall

yeah i don’t think any of you should be surprised by this point

have the yashiro commission

The Flying Kipper Man in Silver

Or

Silver Henry ™️

A rare variant of our favorite green engine has been spotted. Starting in the 2000s Henry decided to occasionally appear in this older variant so he could roam Sodor without being noticed by his peers. Key is the beard that obscures his features quite nicely.

TG, popping in to make everyone’s day a little brighter!

And maybe a little more wet.

A Selection of DOUGLAS RAIN in VOLPONE

Stratford Festival, Stratford, Ontario, Canada, 19th annual season of Drama, June 7 to October 16, 1971, featuring Macbeth, Much Ado About Nothing, The Duchess of Malfi, Volpone, An Italian Straw Hat, and There's One in Every Marriage. WILLIAM HUTT as Volpone DOUGLAS RAIN as Mosca POWYS THOMAS as Voltore MERVYN BLAKE as Corbaccio © Douglas Spillane. "The Festival" Photographer, Stratford, Ontario

LULU WARREN & TOMMY SHELBY EDITS ! ft. @proofwhisky

only mutuals may interact & reblog

Bought and Paid For has a lot of pinks, greens, blues, and purple

in which the bore has become so tired of baking exclusively for himself that he hallucinates a conversation with a miscolored rat

Welcome to the cursed character glitches club! Except alhaitham’s is very pretty 🥹 faceless ayato is entranced.

From here!

my desire to keep my deadprem team is now in conflict with my desire to make a pink and white (and blue) team

it's sooooo funny because like. bikke's senpai is obviously supposed to be a homage to the heart of thomas as well. and it hits the superficial points really well— on the surface it resembles the heart of thomas much more than birdmen does. visually the character designs are much more similar and the whole "someone resembling protagonist's dead beloved" thing you know. but the thing is. bikke kind of missed the point of the heart of thomas imo. like they didn't seem to understand the significance that religion played in the story, and so in their contemporary response, they were missing a good 40% of the meaning of the original.

you can kind of see where they were coming from. in senpai, while the plot structure is largely the same as in the heart of thomas, there are a couple of notable differences: the eponymous senpai is killed in a car accident, whereas the eponymous thomas commits suicide, instead. and I can understand that from the sentiment of "ohhh burying your gays is problematic etc. etc." and consequently removing that in your contemporary adaptation of the tale. But I think the resulting work just feels kind of sanitized because of the removal— the element of tragedy through death is now just a chance happening, instead of a real consequence of a real choice. This story is now happening in the uncanny valley replica of the real world where all those romcom hallmark movies happen.

I like what tanabe did instead (to nobody's surprise I'm soooo impartial about birdmen)— she pushes suicide out of the limelight, but keeps it there at the edges to haunt the story. It avoids the trap of sensationalizing suicide, but it keeps the story grounded. The world the characters are living in becomes more complex. More tangible.

I think what makes the suicides in Birdmen and The Heart of Thomas work is the fact that they're a conduit for something more than just a suicide. In this post I wax poetic about how the suicide puts things into perspective and shows just how close to choosing death Karasuma might be, in order to give his choice to live meaning. In the Heart of Thomas, Thomas's suicide is his way of condemning himself to hell, in order to give Juli his wings, so he might ascend to heaven in Thomas's stead. I suspect Bikke couldn't work out a way to give suicide meaning in their work, and opted to remove it altogether.

Another thing that Bikke changed in Senpai was that they chose to make the nature of Misumi (Thomas parallel) and Kou (Juli parallel)'s very explicit. (In the sense of it being clearly defined, not in the sense of being sexually explicit.) They were dating. And then they broke up, and on the same day Misumi got into a car accident.

Meanwhile BIRDMEN and The Heart of Thomas remain extremely vague about the nature of Takayama/Thomas's relationship to Karasuma/Juli. Once again I find myself circling back to what Kitsoa said about agape, about the love of God for man and vice versa. I find it deeply applicable to both pairs of characters, but even more so than that, I think the opening to The Heart of Thomas sums what I'm trying to say up perfectly.

The way its described as asexual and inexplicable REALLY screams queer to me. The way it refuses to put a firm label on Thomas's feelings, the way nothing is clean cut, the way relationships and feelings are messy the way they are in real life... I really genuinely believe that this is one of Heart of Thomas's and BIRDMEN's greatest strengths. The relationship between the protagonist and deuteragonist is whatever the reader interprets it to be. There are no labels. Only what is there.

This, of course, extends to the endings for all three series. I'm sure the ending of Heart of Thomas ground a lot of gears in how inconclusive it felt. And of course it would feel inconclusive, if you were viewing it as a romance. Juli doesn't end up with Eric. He becomes a priest, instead. It is not a shortcoming; in fact I would argue that there's no other way for the story to end, but I'm sure it felt like a shortcoming to Bikke; in Senpai, the story concludes with Kou getting together with Saki. Despite the conflicts, they are able to sort out their issues and start dating. And yet for Karasuma and Takayama, we are only really left with Karasuma's platonic confession in ch. 77, followed by Takayama dropping a crab off at Karasuma's place, which is an equally or even more ambiguous ending than Heart of Thomas's.

and see that's where bikke really missed. the heart of thomas was NOT about getting Juli together with Eric!! It was about Juli's internal conflict with himself!! It's about absolving Juli of his sin!! About how he deserves love despite the fact he so deeply believes he cannot be saved!!!!!! and in a similar way, birdmen isn't about karasuma getting together with takayama either. it's not!! it's about finding and defending your community!! anyways this isn't a serious meta essay but I wrote it and I suppose I'll add it to my meta masterpost anyways lol

Allegory of the Stonewall Riot (Statue of Liberty) Fighting for Drag Queen, Husband and Home (found objects, cellophane, foil) by Thomas Lanigan-Schmidt (1969)

[“It was only after I came out as a dyke that, for the first time in my life, I felt ready to celebrate being a girl, and I did. Actually, I overdid. Armed with Esther Newton’s Mother Camp, Judith Butler’s Gender Trouble, and Joan Nestle’s A Restricted Country, I embraced femme. I dressed up in short flowery dresses, pushup bras, satin panties, and lacy stockings. I paid great attention to my long, curly, perfectly-coiffed hair, my glamorous makeup, and especially my pouty lips. I spritzed Lola’s smell on my skin—Estee Lauder’s Private Collection—and painted my nails. I wore all of it with black combat boots and a brilliant sense of irony. I reveled in my girliness, went over the top, learned how to tweeze my eyebrows and line my lips with a lip pencil.

My gender presentation was unmistakable: blatant female sexuality. I was a proud, in-your-face, take-no-prisoners, uppity, don’t-assume-I’m-straight-because-I-wear-lipstick-and-dresses femme dyke. Because femmes are always assumed to be straight or sleeping with men, and I do sleep with men, I made sure to always have a butch on my arm so I’d be read as femme. Even though I was sure I’d be mistaken for straight, the boys took one look at me and steered clear. It was as if I was too much of a woman for them to handle, like I was a handful, and I was. But butch girls love a handful—a handful of tits, a handful of ass, a girl who needs to be handled, a girl who can handle herself.

How I figured out I was a femme had a lot to do with the women I was attracted to and the dynamic between us. When I was in junior high, I used to mess around with a friend of mine named Angela. Angela was one of those girls who developed early; I remember she had big breasts in like sixth grade. We mostly kissed and touched over clothes, and we played out various boy-girl scenarios. I was always the girl—my early femme roots. My favorite of all our little scenes was the one where she was my male boss and I was the secretary. The boss made me have sex with him and told me if I didn’t I would get fired. Now this was all before Clarence Thomas, Anita Hill and the media awareness/obsession with sexual harassment. I remember she’d tell me to suck her dick and push my face unmercifully into her crotch, which smelled amazing,. The drama of it all—the force, the degradation, the power games—really got me off. After that, there was no going back to simplicity. I was hooked on the power.

Jen really epitomized all the girls I was attracted to then and still am. Being with a butch girl, I was valued for my combination of strength and vulnerability, for dressing up, for wanting an arm to hold onto, hips to wrap my legs around, being able to give my body over to her and say, I trust you, I’m yours. My butch loved me in low-cut dresses, appreciated my sexual voraciousness, worshipped my inner slut. I reveled in the fact that I could be strong and submissive all at once. Surrender and still be a feminist. Being a dyke is not just about who I fuck and love, it’s about being a girl who doesn’t play by the rules.

Butch girls don’t play by the rules either, and I love butch girls. Girls with hair so short you can barely slide it between two fingers to hold on. Girls with slick, shiny, barbershop haircuts and shirts that button the other way. Girls that swagger. Girls who have dicks made of flesh and silicone and latex and magic. Girls who get stared at in the ladies room, girls who shop in the boy’s department, girls who live every moment looking like they weren’t supposed to. Girls with hands that touch me like they have been touching my body their entire lives. Girls who have big cocks, love blow-jobs, and like to fuck girls hard. Every day, it is the girls that get called Sir that make me catch my breath, the girls with strong jaws that buckle my knees, the girls who are a different gender that make me want to lie down for them.

Someone else said it about me recently and it’s right on target: “She gets off on all different sorts of people sexually, but she falls for butches.” Like the poet who bought her first strap-on with me and then wanted to sleep with it on. The shrink-in-training who got harassed every time she drove down South. She did look so much like a fifteen-year-old boy: blue button-down shirts, neatly-combed blond hair. The ad exec who had names for her dildos and used to love for me to spit-shine her wingtips. The photographer whose face was so mannish she could pass almost anywhere. The writer who wanted a body like Loren Cameron’s. The telephone repairwoman who drove a truck. The cook who had a boy’s name. The academic who got cruised by gay men on Castro Street. The cornfed farmboy from the Heartland with arms so hard and strong you swear they’ve been working the land, not the iron at the gym.

And there’s the one who’s got the James Dean stare down, and dresses like a clean-cut fag, and looks at me like she could look at me forever and never blink or grow tired or move from the spot she’s in. She’s a girl who loves girls like me—girls in velvet bras, girls who want to surrender to her mouth. She’s a girl who isn’t afraid to throw a femme down on the bed and fuck her. Possess her. My kind of girl. This girl is different.”]

tristan taormino, from this girl is different, from a woman like that: lesbian and bisexual writers tell their coming out stories, 2000

𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐃𝐎𝐍'𝐓 𝐔𝐍𝐃𝐄𝐑𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐍𝐃, 𝐈'𝐌 𝐎𝐁𝐒𝐄𝐒𝐒𝐄𝐃!

✧.*No warnings, just tooth-rotting fluff! <3

༊*·˚ Your husband is obsessed with your shiny new wedding ring. <3

˗ˏˋFeaturing ´ˎ˗ IWAIZUMI, Hinata, ATSUMU, Daichi, Kuroo, BOKUTO, Akaashi, Semi, ARAN, GOJO, YUUJI, Nanami, Kaveh, Alhaitham, KAEYA, Diluc, Thoma, Zhongli, CHILDE, ASTA, Fuegoleon,

He's obsessed with it, he thinks. Positively enamored with the shimmering wedding band that wrapped itself around your dainty ring finger.

Every time he catches a glimpse of the expensive diamond on your hand his stomach erupts in a fit of butterflies. It reminds him that you're his, his to keep, to love, to hold, to kiss.

"What are you staring at over there pretty boy?"

Your giggly voice free's him from his trance and he looks up at you from his place on the couch, you standing in front of him. He can't help the smile that creeps onto his face, mirroring your own. He reaches for your left hand, cupping it in his larger one.

You stare in amusement as his plush lips press a gentle kiss to the gem that decorated your finger.

"Staring at you baby, you look so good with this ring on."

You smile at him fondly, heart warmed by the soft look on his face. You reach out to him with your free hand, cupping his face in your palm.

He looks up, meeting your eyes. You lean in, carefully pressing your lips against his own. His big arms wrap around your torso, pulling you flush against him as he returns the gentle kiss.

The two of you sit there, holding each other as you bask in the afterglow of your shared love. It seems as though time stops for the two of you when his hand wraps around your own, his thumb fiddling with the ring.

Yeah, he is obsessed, but that's okay, he thinks.